The Scarlet Pepper

by Dorothy St. James

  “Do you know why?”

  “When I asked, Parker got all twitchy and secretive. Said there’d been a scandal that had been hushed up at the time. ‘It’s an explosive story I wanted to tell, but I didn’t have all the details, and my editor pulled the plug on me,’ he said. He then stole my papers. And then was found dead in that park the next morning.”

  “That makes you a suspect,” I pointed out.

  “I know. The police keep asking me questions about what I was doing Friday night. But I had no reason to want Parker dead. I never wanted his job. I simply want to find my father. And yet I’m sure my searching for him caused Parker’s death. So doesn’t that make me guilty of something?”

  “I don’t know. Everyone in D.C. wanted to see Parker gone.”

  “You’re right about that. Every day I meet someone new who loathed Parker. Actually, I wasn’t convinced about the connection between my research and his death until I started to get the threatening phone calls.”

  “Can you tell if the caller is a man or a woman?”

  She shook her head. “The voice is gruff. Muffled.”

  “You need to tell the police about the phone calls. It could be the big break Detective Hernandez needs to catch the killer.”

  “No! I can’t! You don’t understand. The caller is telling me that if I talk to the police my father will be murdered! Murdered before I can find out who he is!”

  Several people turned to stare.

  “Oh, God.” Kelly jumped up. “What if the killer followed us here? What if he heard me?”

  I glanced around. Frank Lispon and Bruce Dearing weren’t anywhere in sight. “I’m sure it’s fine. Sit down.”

  “No! I shouldn’t have come. I’ve put my father’s life in danger by talking to you.” She ran out of the conservatory. I chased after her.

  I made it through the heavy double doors and had caught her arm when a black town car—a common sight in D.C.—screeched around the corner at a most uncommon speed.

  “Look out!” I screamed as the car jumped the curb.

  I dove out of the way, dragging Kelly with me.

  Too late. Too late.

  Kelly’s arm tore from my grasping fingers as the sedan slammed into her. Her head cracked against the sedan’s windshield before she was thrown onto the sidewalk.

  The car sped away. Kelly lay in a crumpled heap like a broken doll. A pool of blood formed a halo around her head.

  * * *

  “TWO REPORTERS DEAD.” SPECIAL AGENT IN Charge Mike Thatch grimaced. His gaze dropped to the hospital’s linoleum floor.

  Manny Hernandez nodded gravely.

  “Kelly’s not dead,” I said.

  She was in the ICU unit at the end of the hall on life support. The car’s impact had fractured her skull along with several ribs and her right arm, and it had punctured a lung, but she wasn’t dead.

  Thatch ignored me. “Both reporters were White House correspondents for Media Today. This is clearly an attack on a specific media outlet. Naturally we’ll increase security for the press at the White House. Bryce has already sent out an investigative team to coordinate with your men on what happened.” William Bryce was the Secret Service’s assistant director in charge of protective operations.

  As soon as Jack had received my many text and voice messages, he’d rushed over to the hospital still dressed in his black CAT fatigues. Unfortunately, in order to leave his post he’d had to request time off from his supervisor, Mike Thatch. When Thatch heard I was involved with the accident, he’d insisted on accompanying Jack to the hospital.

  “The attack on Ms. Montague changes the focus of our investigation into Parker’s murder. Any assistance you can provide with names of known threats would be appreciated,” Manny said.

  “You’re welcome to our data. The FBI will have information as well.”

  “I’ve already contacted them,” Manny said.

  “Then it’s handled. It’s a shame, really.” Thatch glanced down the hall. “She was so young.”

  “Kelly’s not dead,” I repeated.

  He turned toward me. His expression hardened.

  “Don’t you have plants to tend?”

  I did.

  The sky outside the window was showing the first signs of morning gray. I’d gone to the hospital with Kelly and even though I wasn’t allowed to see her, I didn’t have the heart to leave, not until her adoptive parents arrived.

  I glanced at my watch. Five o’clock. The First Lady’s harvest was to begin in a few hours. Whether I had the heart to leave or not, I’d run out of time. I had to get ready for work. Manny had already headed for the bank of elevators. I jogged to catch up to him and caught his sleeve.

  “Are you going to follow up on what Kelly told me about her search for her father?” Despite my vow to keep silent about what she’d told me, I couldn’t keep this information from Manny. Too many lives were at stake. Manny needed to know.

  “I will pull her caller history,” he said. “I’ll do what I can, but honestly, Casey, I can’t see how Kelly’s searching for her birth father could have acted as a trigger for someone to murder Parker.”

  “You’ll believe it once you talk with her. She was terrified, not for her own life, but for her father’s life.”

  “I hope I do get a chance to talk with Kelly.” He glanced down the hall and at the double doors that led into the ICU ward. “I sincerely hope she wakes up.”

  I’d heard the doctor’s assessment. Her chances for survival were grim.

  That didn’t mean any of us needed to give up hope.

  “You will get to talk to her,” I insisted. “She’s strong. She’s going to survive this.”

  Manny patted my shoulder and smiled indulgently. “I hope so. If we find the folder you described with her research in it, I’ll assign an officer to follow up on that information as well.”

  “You haven’t found it? Are you saying it’s gone?”

  “It’s still early in the investigation,” was all he’d tell me.

  “And Annie? Have you found her yet? I still haven’t been able to get in touch with her.”

  Manny shook his head. “We don’t even know that Annie is missing, Casey. All we know is that we have two attacks on two reporters who work for the same news organization. One is dead. One may not survive the day. As I told you before, I have to go where the evidence leads me. And the evidence is not taking me to missing fathers or murderous press secretaries.”

  “But—”

  Manny’s cell phone buzzed. He held up a hand and answered with a curt, “Tell the chief I’d be able to get some damn work done if he’d stop having dispatchers call for progress reports.”

  His face grew scarlet as he listened.

  “What?” I breathed.

  The string of curses that followed made me blush. He jogged toward the elevators and slammed his fist against the “down” button. The violence of his actions startled me.

  “What? What’s happened?” I demanded as the elevator doors slid open.

  Manny stepped into the elevator and slammed his fist against the “door closed” button several times. When I tried to follow, he blocked me. “I don’t need a damned gardener nipping at my heels. Get Jack and go home.”

  “What’s going on?” I called out as the doors started to close.

  “Another White House reporter has been found dead. Looks like—” The thick elevator doors clanged into place.

  Chapter Twenty

  Don’t hit at all if it is honorably possible to avoid hitting; but never hit soft!

  —THEODORE ROOSEVELT, THE 26TH PRESIDENT OF

  THE UNITED STATES

  “JACK? Wake up.”

  He was slumped down in the plastic chair in the waiting room. His arms were crossed over his chest. His head, tilted at an awkward angle, rested on his shoulder. How he’d managed to fall asleep with the commotion erupting all around him, I couldn’t imagine.

  “Jack?” I lightly touched his arm. />
  He stretched. The chair creaked as his weight shifted.

  He took one look at me and shot, fully awake, to his feet. “What’s wrong? What’s going on? Kelly’s not—”

  “Kelly’s condition is unchanged. Manny won’t listen to me.” Tears sprang to my eyes.

  I should have pushed harder, asked more questions. My voice broke as I told Jack, “Another reporter has been murdered.”

  “My God. What happened? Which reporter?”

  I couldn’t answer. I had to get out of there. I started to run back toward the bank of elevators.

  Jack followed. “Talk to me, Casey. I mean it.”

  I flapped my hands as tears rolled down my cheeks. I felt as helpless now as I did when I was six years old. I couldn’t stop the murders.

  And damn it, I didn’t want to cry.

  Jack grabbed my shoulders, pulled me into his arms, and held me against his chest. I wrapped my arms around him and held on as if my life depended on his embrace.

  I’d spent so much energy not trusting him, not letting him get close. And for what purpose? To protect me from getting hurt? I felt more alone and hurt now than ever before. I needed Jack. Desperately.

  I don’t know if I lifted my head or if Jack lowered his. Perhaps we met somewhere in the middle. His lips pressed against mine with a fierce need.

  I responded with a neediness of my own.

  The antiseptic hospital corridor, D.C., and the world, for that matter, melted away. Everything I was, every hope, dream, fear, and insecurity, poured into that kiss.

  The moment lasted a lifetime and was over too soon. Pain stabbed me in the chest as our lips parted.

  “What was that about?” I whispered.

  “Us,” he answered.

  As much as I liked how that sounded, this wasn’t the time for there to be an “us.” Another reporter had been killed because I’d not asked enough questions. I pushed at Jack’s shoulder to get him to back up.

  A mistake.

  My knees had gone all watery on me. My legs buckled, and I started to fall.

  Jack caught my shoulders.

  “I…um…”

  “Come on,” Jack said. “Let’s get out of here.”

  From dangerous stud to just dangerous, Jack transformed into a warrior on high alert as we exited the hospital. The lights in the adjacent parking structure glowed an eerie yellow as we crossed several rows of cars and followed a ramp up one level.

  Wheels squealing, a car rounded a corner.

  Jack grabbed me and pushed me between two parked SUVs. The car whipped past us. And kept going.

  “Just a careless driver,” Jack said. “My car’s over there.”

  He pointed to a battered Jeep. Its faded red paint had been completely worn off in several spots. The fenders were dented. The soft top had a rip that had been meticulously mended.

  “A Prius would be more economical,” I said.

  He smiled and shook his head.

  “Where are we going?” I asked after climbing into the Jeep’s passenger seat. “I have to be at the White House in about an hour.”

  “I know. I do, too. I’m taking you home.”

  “Good. I need to shower and change.”

  On the ride through the quiet D.C. streets, Jack got on his phone to one of his Secret Service buddies.

  As he talked, I sat on the edge of the passenger seat. My nerves were perched at the edge as well.

  “What? What did he say?” I demanded as soon as he hit the phone’s “end” button. “What did you find out?”

  Jack tossed his phone to the Jeep’s dashboard and turned a corner before answering.

  “Simon Matthews was found dead in his apartment a few hours ago.”

  “Matthews?” I pressed my fingers to my lips as I pictured the young reporter with those thick glasses peering at me from over his laptop. “Everyone has been saying that he was vying to become the next Griffon Parker.”

  “It won’t happen now. The police still need to do an autopsy. At the moment, though, it looks as if he was poisoned. His computer was smashed.”

  “He didn’t work for Media Today. Manny will have to listen to me now.”

  “I learned something else,” he said as he pulled to a stop in front of my brownstone apartment. “They found the car that hit Kelly. The bastard drove it to a secluded boat landing on the Potomac and set it on fire. The license plate, which was registered to a blue Nissan, matched the plate you saw on the black town car.”

  “I can’t believe someone would do that. Kelly had said that someone was following her, but I didn’t see anyone on the drive over to the Botanic Garden,” I said as I opened the passenger door and slid out of the Jeep.

  Jack followed. “The police still don’t have a description of the driver. But they’re pushing hard to find an eyewitness, a security camera along the route, anything.”

  “Have they questioned Frank Lispon regarding his whereabouts yesterday?” I asked.

  “Sorry, Casey, he’s not even on the police’s or the Secret Service’s radar. It may make good reading for a thriller—press secretary cracks and goes on a killing spree, knocking off the White House press corps—but it’s not real.”

  “He’s not targeting everyone in the press corps, just the ones who were on the verge of finding Kelly’s birth father.”

  I pulled out my keys to the front door. Jack stood beside me, a pillar of strength when I felt ready to collapse. His kiss still tasted fresh on my mouth. I wanted to forget the harvest, the murders, all of it, and wrap my arms around him and kiss him forever. Just thinking about it left me more than a little dizzy.

  “So what do we do now?” I asked.

  “You let me in.”

  ALYSSA WAS STILL ASLEEP AND WOULD BE FOR another half hour. Jack waited on the sofa in the living room while I went upstairs, took a quick shower, changed into my best work clothes, and pulled my hair into a ponytail.

  When I came back down the stairs, Jack followed me into the kitchen. “I’m making oatmeal and toast,” I said. “Would you like some?”

  “No. Thank you, but no. I’ll pick up something at the White House.” He hightailed it out of the kitchen as if pursued by wolves.

  Once I’d finished heating the oatmeal and had the toast safely buttered on my plate, Jack leaned into the kitchen to survey the danger. Finding none, he crossed the room and poured himself a cup of coffee I’d brewed, smelling it before taking a tentative sip.

  “Not bad,” he said as he sat down at the small maple kitchen table with me.

  “I’m not a complete disaster in the kitchen,” I said as he smiled into his coffee mug. “Nothing was destroyed the other night. The fire department didn’t have to be called.”

  “Good for you. Set that bar high.” He set down his coffee mug. “Something’s been bothering me about what happened yesterday. How do we know the town car that hit Kelly wasn’t aiming for you?”

  “Because…”

  I didn’t have an answer for that.

  Jack did. “You’re the one who’s been asking questions.”

  “Not that many!”

  “Did Kelly find yew branches in her backyard?” he was quick to ask.

  “No, but she was getting threatening phone calls. I overheard one of the calls.”

  “So you both were at risk. She gets the calls. You get the branches in your yard. I don’t like it, Casey.”

  “Actually, after you left the other night I received a threatening phone call, too.”

  “You did? Casey! Why didn’t you call me?”

  “I called Manny. He traced the number. So far he’s hit a dead end. The call came from a throwaway cell phone.”

  Jack took several deep breaths before asking, “What did the caller say?”

  “He—I think it was a he—told me to stay out of the garden or else I’d end up at the bottom of the compost pile. Well, that’s not happening. I’m not going to stay out of the garden.”

  Jack held his co
ffee mug so tightly his knuckles turned white. “You and Kelly are both at risk. But while she’ll be well protected in the ICU, you are a walking target.”

  “What do you suggest I do?”

  “First we’re going to the White House. That’s the safest place for you right now. And then—” He hesitated. “Damn it, whoever’s doing this is getting desperate. The police will move swiftly, but I’m afraid they’re going to end up pushing our killer to strike again. And soon. When that happens, I’m afraid the killer will come straight for you.”

  “And Kelly’s father.”

  “Yes, his life is in danger, too.”

  “He may have already gotten Annie,” I said. “I can’t let anyone else get hurt or killed. I have to do something, Jack.”

  “I hate to say this, but I think you’re right. Stay at the White House. It’s the safest place for you. No, let me finish. While there, use your contacts with the gardening volunteers and find out everything you can about Francesca’s scandal and Kelly’s birth father.”

  Jack was encouraging me to ask questions? “Do you think Francesca and Kelly are somehow connected?”

  “I don’t know. We don’t even know if that’s the reason Parker and Matthews were killed, but we need to find out. The police and the Secret Service are focusing on searching for a mental or a terrorist who has a grudge against the White House press coverage. For all we know, that’s the motive. But if it’s not, if someone is killing in order to keep a scandal from becoming public, then anyone connected to that scandal is in danger. The fastest way to stop what’s happening is to expose the secret that the killer is desperate to hide. Kill the motive, we stop the murders.”

  “I like that plan.” I quickly swallowed the last of my orange juice and grabbed my backpack. “Let’s go.”

  IT DIDN’T MATTER THAT I HAD NO SLEEP. I FELT alert and ready for anything.

  “I know that the White House’s security is second to none,” I told Jack after he accompanied me through the White House’s iron gates, “but I have a bad feeling something is going to happen at the harvest.”

  Jack stopped abruptly in the middle of the small parking lot near the East Wing. “The Secret Service will be on the South Lawn in full force to protect the First Lady and everyone else. What could happen?”